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Topics - Dassalya

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Events and Occasions / Jedi kNight: A Plague on Dravik
« on: 05/29/19, 01:39:11 PM »
Jedi Night: A Plague On Dravik
Part II

After being summoned to a briefing by Master Doz Jalth, the available Jedi Knights and allies of the Jedi Custodum were informed of an illness spreading through a mining colony on the moon of Dravik. The colonists claimed that that the illness was resistant to conventional medicines, and further explained that all attempts by the colonists to explore the mine in which the first individuals to exhibit symptoms were working had gone awry. Master Jalth dispatched those gathered to assist Jedi Knight Dassalya Nasadee, who had been sent upon receiving the first summons, on the mission.

Now the Jedi know that something, indeed, is foul in the mine. With light-averse, Sith-twisted monsters infesting the dark below and a body slain by a cauterizing weapon found, they must seek to pierce the growing mystery of what—or who—and why this plague has been unleashed on the citizens of Dravik. And they must do so before those afflicted are too far gone to save, including the freshly infected Knight Merrant himself...

Who: Any individuals who may have a reason to be investigating the unknown sickness on Dravik
What: Adventure! Mystery! And helping people! (Or hindering the helpers.*)
When: Thursday, May 30th at 7:30 PM
Where: Niarra's Jedi Academy stronghold (standing in as Dravik and its mine). Call for an invite in the JC guild chat or /republicooc

*if you would like to play an antagonistic force in this adventure, please let me know ASAP so I might prepare for it

Last week's logs:
Spoiler: show
Dravik is a warm moon, but one punctuated by large swaths of grey, slate-like mesas and plains. Coming in, it gives one the impression of a mottle world that should be green, but is infected and sickly. Whether or not this is the moon’s usual state is difficult to tell. Upon landing, the group is met by a weary, sunken-cheeked, human man of middle years. He introduces himself as Sinan and offers to take the Jedi to where he claims Dassalya is currently working. Merrant thanks the man, bowing his head briefly before following. Jheva hangs to the back of the group as if she were keeping up a read guard position. She studies Sinan carefully as they go. Sinan looks haggard, like he hasn’t slept properly in several days. His body bears the bent-shouldered, hardened posture of one who has lived a life of hard labour.

The colony, too, is all but silent. Only a handful of beings grace the streets, and those seem to be out only by necessity.

Merrant mutters to Jheva, “…looks like it wasn’t an overstatement.”

“Mining is hard. I know,” Jheva says in a low voice. “But it’s more. Than just that.” Merrant quietly nods in reply.

Sinan leads them, eventually, through the abandoned streets to the edge of the most recent mining excavations. It is there that they see Dassalya, tapping away at a datapad as she frowns down at it. She pauses, occasionally, to touch a knuckle to her lower lip in thought. Jheva still lingers toward the back, letting Merrant take point on greeting Dassalya. She continues to watch Sinan and any other local near enough to be observed.

“I still recommend a quarantine of the area until we—”

Merrant approaches Dassalya as she speaks, clearing his throat. She looks up from her datapad, appearing vaguely surprised to see other Jedi.

“Oh! I… apologize. I did not realize you had come.” Her ‘you’ appears to be the more general of the term, as her eyes shift to Jheva to include her in the comment.

“Master Jalth sent us when you didn’t report in,” Merrant says. “Things are that bad here?”

Dassalya nods.

“I apologize for not making my report sooner. Things are, truly, not well here. There is something… off about all of this. The symptoms of the colonists are utterly unaffected by standard medicine, and even my Force healing has only been able to stabilize patients, not improve them.”

Jheva grimaces, very faintly. She looks to whoever Dassalya was speaking to about the quarantine, trying to see any visual symptoms on any locals nearby.

“Those who were first infected were reported to have been working in this mine—” Dassalya gestures to the cavernous opening behind and to her left. “—so I thought it might be time to begin a more thorough investigation of the space. None of the probes sent in have returned.”

“Do we know anything about what’s wrong with the people here?” Merrant asks. Dassalya nods.

“The symptoms of illness include fever, searing muscular pains, clenching of the throat and possible choking, fatigue, and potentially death. It affects across species and across age groups, although, so far, it is only those who have already been compromised by other conditions who have become one with the Force.”

“Age groups?” Jheva asks.

“Usually it is the elderly or the very young who are most at risk for illnesses, but this sickness has been contracted by healthy adults as well.”

“How old? How young?”

Dassalya checks her datapad.

“The eldest was… seventy-two, and the youngest has been nineteen months. The nineteen-month-old is still alive, although in an unimproving condition.”

Jheva’s brow furrows, a deep line between her ridges.

“I meant… working in the mine. But your answer means… it’s not affecting just… the workers?”

“…have you shown any symptoms?” Merrant asks, watching Dassalya. She shakes her head.

“Not as of yet. I have taken inoculations to protect against several known bacteria and viruses with similar symptoms and am maintaining a vigil of physical status. I can provide these inoculations to yourselves as well.”

“Who owns it?” Jheva asks. “The mine.”

“That would be—” Dassalya checks her datapad again. “—Oba Sarn. I believe this is the second colony of this variety she has founded, if memory serves.”

“…what’s the first one?” Merrant, this time.

“A similar mining expenditure in an asteroid belt two systems over,” Dassalya replies. “So far, they are not reporting any situation similar to this.”

Jheva looks grim. Her gaze shifts over to the entrance of the cave, clearing waiting for Dassalya’s next instructions.

“…hm. All right,” Merrant says. “We should check out the cave. Mind inoculating us?”

“Of course.” Dassalya slides her datapad back into its holster at her hip, then removes a small bottle of clear fluid and an injector from a pouch at the small of her back. “Your arm, please.”

Jheva’s eyes snap back to Dassalya at Merrant’s words. Dassalya glances at her as she prepares the serum, her eye caught by the motion. She offers a reassuring smile.

“Purebloods… resist some poisons,” Jheva says. “Do I need it?”

Merrant rolls up a sleeve, opens a panel on his armour, and extends his arm to Dassalya.

“Better safe than sorry, Jheva.”

“It is ultimately your choice,” Dassalya replies, turning her attention back to Merrant. She presses the injector against his skin and depresses the lever. A small needle within pricks his skin. “But I do recommend you receive it. The illness is documented to infect multiple species.”

Jheva watches Dassalya apply the inoculation to Merrant with a frown.

“Does it matter… if I’ve been… sick… from something else recently?”

Dassalya pauses, frowning. She takes the moment to drop the used injector into a clear bag, seals it, and returns it to the pouch at the small of her back. She retrieves a new one from within, but doesn’t ready it with serum.

“…may I ask with what you were sick? It… may affect whether you should inoculate or not, yes.”

Merrant nods gratefully at Dassalya.

“…I’ll give you two room.” He walks away so that Jheva might have something resembling doctor-patient privacy.

Jheva is silent for several moments, longer than her usual thoughtful pauses. She’s obviously debating something with herself.

“Alchemy. Sith. It’s… cured now.”

Dassalya’s frown deepens. Her gaze lowers in thought. Once again, she taps the knuckle of her right forefinger against her bottom lip.

“Sith alchemy is different from natural diseases. If you have been cured for more than forty-eight hours, I would still recommend inoculation.” Jheva clenches her jaw and thinks for another moment, but ultimately nods her assent. “Then may I have your arm, please?”

Jheva swiftly undoes one of her bracers so that she can eventually push up a sleeve and offer Dassalya skin. She doesn’t say another word in protest. Dassalya readies a new injector.

“Tell me, do you see the statue in the water to your left?”


As soon as Jheva’s attention is drawn away, Dassalya depresses the injector’s lever and a quick pinch of pain pricks Jheva’s arm. Dassalya withdraws her hand.

Jheva looks back to her a second later, obviously waiting for the rest of her comment about the statue. When she does, another second after that, realizing what Dassalya did, she looks completely confused and even shakes her head a little, but says nothing. She sets to replacing her bracer.

“Good. Thank you,” Dassalya says, packing up Jheva’s used injector in the same manner as she did Merrant’s. She looks between the two. “Are we all ready, then?”

Merrant nods. “Yup.”

Dassalya then takes a deep breath and, without further ado, steps toward the mine. Merrant moves into point position. Because he’s wearing armour. That’s why. Totally. Jheva takes up as rear guard again, following them in.

A cool breeze drifts down from the towering mesa above as the group beholds the mine’s cavernous entrance. A single, dark shaft descends deep into the earth by way of a caged elevator, and something sickly briefly wafts up from within.

Merrant makes a brief face. “…well. That smell encouraging.”

“Did they… lose anyone? Down here? People who didn’t… come back.”

No light issues forth from the shaft as the trio presses further inside. Discarded lamps are strewn across the floor, some with broken handles or cracked lenses as if they had been dropped in a hurry.

“There are some who are not yet accounted for, yes,” Dassalya says softly. “But, as I said, no probes sent inside have returned. It is part of the reason why the Jedi were called.”

Merrant pulls a small glowstick out of a pocket on his belt, activates it, and drops it down the shaft. It is a long, long way down. Its bouncing echoes fill the otherwise silent cavern. Glints of ore are briefly revealed by its fading descent. Dassalya steps forward onto the elevator and turns to the pair.

“I hope neither of you are claustrophobic.”

“…let’s be safe. Sabres out,” Merrant suggests. He ignites his lightsabre and steps onto the lift. Jheva follows, gaze moving along the walls of the shaft, apparently studying the ore. If she’s concerned about being claustrophobic, she gives no sign. She takes her lightsabre hilt in hand but doesn’t ignite it yet. Dassalya, however, ignites her sabre as requested, and carefully hold it high as an extra source of illumination. She activates the lift controls. With a creaking groan and a momentary screech of metal, the elevator descends.

“……make sure we fine the owner for whatever we can. Just on principle.” Merrant’s words are swallowed by the sound-dampening weight of the earth about them.

It takes nearly a minute to reach the bottom of the shaft. A single, tripod-mounted, work light illuminates the immediate area. Merrant steps out, looking around, on guard for threats. Jheva follows out of the lift last, still obviously trying to keep rear guard. She sniffs at the air, like the scent might tell her something.

In the dim light, the group of Jedi can just pick out the forms of a distant console and an inert drill within the bubble of a large, excavated cavern. The air here is stale. It leaves a sour residue on the back of one’s tongue. Merrant moves toward the drill, his eyes glancing around at the darkness.

Jheva crouches once she’s stepped out onto the mine floor and passes her hand over the stone, studying her fingertips afterwards. She frowns and stands up again, deactivated lightsabre hilt still in hand.

“No. It does not,” Dassalya replies. “If anyone has brought with them a personal air filter, now might be the time to apply it.” She removes a small, translucent mask from the satchel at her waist and slips it over her mouth and nose.

The group moves deeper into the cavern, following Merrant’s lead. A few metres from the large form the drill—which glistens dully by the light of their sabres—Dassalya frowns at something on the floor illuminated by the green-tinged light. She kneels down, holding her sabre closer.

“There is something dark here. Oil or… something else. I cannot tell.”

Jheva looks down toward Dassalya, then up toward the darkness overhead. Merrant reaches out to grab something from behind the far side of the drill with the Force. A soft ‘click’ breaks the still air. The drill rumbles to life, raucous and noisy. It makes hearing difficult. Dassalya raises her sabre with a frown and rises her to feet. She turns about, trying to discern what else might have changed with the activation of the drill. Jheva immediately moves to the side with the swiftness of someone familiar with how much debris a machine like this, if not well tended, can kick up. Dassalya follows suit. The ‘something’ Merrant has caught is a humanoid figure, difficult to discern in the darkness of the cavern.

“Who are you?” Merrant shouts as he draws the figure closer, but his words are almost entirely swallowed by the echoing cacophony raised by the drill. Even if it could hear, it becomes abundantly clear as the figure is finally illuminated by their lightsabres that it would not reply. It is a Duros woman. Blood has coagulated about a lethal wound in her gut. She is dead.

The woman’s arm splays out behind her as she hovers in Merrant’s grip. A string attached to her wrist leads back to the drill.

“…damn it.” Merrant lowers her back down to the ground. Jheva steps around him and the corpse, giving it only a brief look. She finally ignites her lightsabre to give her some light as she steps up to the side of the drill, looking for the control panel where experience tells her it should be. From her side of the drill, she can see the string from the Duros woman’s arm attached to the main power lever on the drill’s controls.

Dassalya steps up to the body quickly and kneels to inspect it, then checks for life signs. She shakes her head at Merrant.

Jheva doesn’t move to cut the string. She steps up to the lever and hovers her hand over it, but doesn’t flip it just yet, allowing herself a moment to reach out with the Force to sense for what might be triggered by the action. When nothing is revealed, she moves the lever to the off position.

The drill powers down. A ringing remains in the ears even as its echoes fade. Jheva moves to carefully walk all around the drill, inspecting it from all angles, looking for signs of other bodies or string traps. What she finds is a single, bloody hand print on the drill’s far side where Merrant had first spotted the body. She kneels down beside and measures the hand print in comparison to the size and shape of her own. It is roughly comparable, five-fingered like hers… and like the Duros they discovered. A touch reveals that the blood is flaky and dry.

Dassalya shakes her head, touching a hand to her ear with a grimace.

“Have you found something, Jheva?”

Jheva finished her perimeter check of the drill before coming to a stop by Dassalya and Merrant again and actually answering.

“A print. Hand print. Blood. Old. Whatever killed her… wanted the drill back on.”

Dassalya frowns at that.

“That is a little disturbing and distressing.”

Merrant moves to the hole the drill was drilling.

“…only a little?”

Jheva frowns at it.

“It’s loud.” Dassalya nods in agreement. Jheva turns to look behind her, into the darkness, but she only see the light from the lonely lamp that remains on duty outside the elevator shaft. The lift cage is still in place, ready to take them upward whenever they decide. “Loud means… someone could hear.”

“The lift wasn’t exactly quiet…” Merrant says.

“No, but not as loud as the drill,” Dassalya replies.

Jheva starts looking around for any sign of the probes. There is nothing immediately in sight.

The lift cage closes, beeps, and recalls up the shaft, but it returns presently with Tela Sae’banni. Dassalya relaxes, and offers Tela a nod of greeting.

“Did you receive an inoculation before coming down, Knight Sae’banni?”

Jheva steps right up to the edge of the pool of light from their lightsabres, where the darkness deepens. She shuts off her sabre, letting her species’ night vision adjust. There might be something out there at the edge of vision, but it’s difficult to tell what it might be. Mining equipment, perhaps? Jheva, always one for patience, fixes her eyes on the indistinct shape and waits. If she can’t see it clearly, she might at least be able to see if it moves.

Merrant turns away from the drill hole, having found nothing of value other than a thought that this might have been an area the colony planned to excavate further.

“So, we think this drill is part of the problem?” Tela asks.

“Might have drawn something to us,” Merrant replies, peering into the darkness.

“It’s watching us,” Jheva says, watching something in the darkness—not the still form of the barely-visible mining equipment.

Dassalya frowns back at her.

“…watching us?”

“…I see a console over here,” Merrant says, taking a step toward the deeper, far side of the cavern. “Might control something important.”

“On the wall,” Jheva replies. “It’s watching us.”

“Let’s not get too spread out if there’s trouble in the dark…” Tela says.

Whatever Jheva has spotted on the cavern wall hisses, revealing a wide mouth full of needle teeth. It is about the size of a large akk dog and sports wicked, curved claws and a lashing tail in addition to its teeth. Its eyes, four of them, blink with a ravenous light. It lunges forward in tandem with three other creatures of the same variety—one toward each Jedi.

“Of course!” Merrant says, igniting his lightsabre and slashing at the creature leaping for him. It snakes under his guard and snaps at his leg and, while his armour saves him from the worst of the bite, a single fang penetrates his skin.

Jheva’s lightsabre snap-hisses into light, both ends of her sabrestaff this time, slashing out with a strike fully intended to bisect the charging creature. It falls to the ground in pieces, one half of its head snapping wildly for a few seconds more before it grows still.

Tela is a dance of sabre light that glints off her ice-white, Arkanian skin, but the beast is able to rend her tunic with a well-place claw. It darts back out of reach, hissing. Dassalya’s blade spears the creature attacking her through its clavicle. It swipes at her one last time before slumping forward with a groan. Jheva spins about, looking for any enemy still posing a threat to allies.

Merrant grimaces as his armour and skin are breached, but he falls down on the creature, grabbing it by the throat with his off hand and bring his lightsabre down hard. It gives a screech of pain before falling limp within his grasp. The creature harrying Tela makes another lunge for her with snapping jaws. She thrusts forward, impaling it neatly between its four eyes. Jheva snaps her gaze around whatever she can see of walls or ceiling, looking for more ambushers. She cannot see them, but she can hear them hissing and scrabbling in the darkness. With the echoes of fighting still bouncing off the cavern walls, it is difficult to pinpoint exactly from where the sounds come.

“There’s more. And something… was alive here that wanted them… to attack other people. How were they alive still?”

“Come together!” Dassalya says, her lightsabre held ready before her. “Present a united front!”

Merrant looks around, swinging his lightsabre idly.

“Kid, if you have any info we can actually use, don’t hesitate to say it!”

“There’s more,” Jheva says again. “I can hear them. Something put the string. On the drill. Something they weren’t attacking.”

Tela eyes the distance between her and a barely visible, scuttling form, then thrust her arm forward. Her lightsabre hurtles forward like a missile and impales a creature on the far wall, then returns just as swiftly to her hand. Merrant winces as he steps back with a faint limp, his eyes watching the darkness. They can all hear it now—a sibilant whisper of hissing and scrabbling surrounding them in the darkness just beyond their lightsabres’ glow. Jheva shoots a glance at the tripod-mounted lamp by the lift. Tela bends to examine the dead creature near Dassalya’s feet. As she does, something becomes apparent: this is not a natural creature. It is twisted and contorted in a way that no born being should be.

Merrant grimaces.

“…does the air feel more vile to anyone else all of the sudden?”

Dassalya glances over at him, turning her attention briefly from the skittering and hissing in the dark.

“I feel no difference. Anyone else?”

Jheva throws out a hand and tries to pull the lamp across the cave toward them with the Force. It comes easily, bouncing once on an outcropping of stone, but otherwise making its way to Jheva without impediment. She sets it down near the centre of the group so that its light will cover as much space around them as possible.  There’s further hissing from the creatures in the dark. They do not move closer, their eyes squinting and blinking at the light.


Tela’s eyes darken.

“These creatures have been… warped.”

Jheva now pulls the head of the creature she killed toward with the Force, holding it suspended a foot in front of her taut hand so that she can study it in the light, her other hand still holding her lit lightsabre.

“…just great,” Merrant says. “Okay. We have new information. Don’t let them bite you, not even a little bit. Also, I got bit a little bit. Not feeling too good.”

Tela eyes her cloak.

“Only damaged my wardrobe, thankfully.”

Dassalya, her eyes still on the creatures at the edge of their pool of light, beings to edge closer to Merrant. He glances at her.

“…left leg, just behind the shin. Early infection, that’s… helpful for understanding something like this, right?”

Jheva’s jaw clenches tight as she studies the creature’s head. Then she lets go of her Force grip on it, and it drops to the floor with a thud.

Dassalya nods.

“It is. Thank you. We should remove you to the surface where I can treat you.”

“…right. Run for the lift?”

“I can try and draw them off. Still young and bouncy,” Tela offers with a wink.

“It’s Sith. Made by Sith.” Jheva sidesteps closer to the body of the Duros woman and risks taking her eyes off the darkness just long enough to do a hasty inspection of the corpse. The wound, now seen in the proper light, appears to have been made by something that cauterized it instantly.

“I think if we go, we should go together,” Dassalya replies. “They do not appear to enjoy the light that Knight Jheva has brought us.”

“Or we can all go together,” Merrant agrees. “Whatever this disease is, it’s not slowing me down, and no one’s throwing themselves on a sabre for my benefit.”

Tela quips, “Was hoping they fall on mine. But whatever you think best. I’m ready.”

Jheva nods to herself, grimly unsurprised. She looks back at the others.

“If you can fight… I’ll take the bodies.” She deactivates her lightsabre and stows it. Crouching, she hefts the Duros woman’s body up over her shoulders with the experience and strength of someone who has a lot of experience with manual labour and loads. Once she’s braced herself under the woman’s weight, holding her in place by an arm, she throws out her other hand and calls the creature’s head to her with the Force again, unhesitatingly digging her fingers into flesh to hold it. She clearly want to leave here with both if she can at all manage it.

Dassalya steps forward, her eyes wary and her posture ready, and she removes one hand from her sabre to lift the lamp with the Force.

“Merrant, Knight Sae’banni, if you could please watch our flanks…”

She moves slowly forward. The creature hiss as the light touches them and retreat. They do not sound happy at seeing their prey escape. Merrant limps lightly beside her. Tela turns from side to side, watching whichever creature appears the most threatening, moment by moment.

“…anything special about that light?” Merrant asks.

“Not of which I am aware,” Dassalya replies. The lamp’s only immediately visible remarkable quality is that it is the only light source of distinction in the area. Jheva’s laconicism is only made more total by the effort of her carrying her loads; she says nothing at all as they forge onward, back toward the lift.

Dassalya sets the lamp down carefully as they reach the bottom of the lift and moves to the controls. The cage opens. She turns to watch the retreat, but is all but pushed onto the elevator by Merrant as he clambers on. Tela takes the position of rear guard as Jheva moves into the lift cage.

“Ready?” she asks without looking back, watching, instead, for a possible ambush.

“When you are,” Dassalya replies. Once Tela is aboard, she closes the lift doors and activates the controls. They begin to rise. There is a flurry of unhappy activity below them, loosely heard over the sound of the elevator rising and punctuated by dissatisfied hiss-howls.

Jheva braces herself against the cage wall of the lift, but doesn’t release either of her burdens. She turns her eyes up, monitoring the shaft above them as they rise.

Merrant deactivates his lightsabre and kneels down to remove the bitten armour plate. Dassalya kneels beside him. She places a hand on his leg. Those around her may feel her careful rerouting of the Force’s currents as she sets about tending Merrant’s wound.

“…so, how bad is it?”

“I sense the infection within you,” she says, her voice low. “I can stop it from progressing, at least for a time.”

Below them, with a sharp sound of shattering lenses, the lamp light winks out.

“Guess we’ll have to bring our own light next time,” Tela says. She turns away and looks to Merrant and Dassalya. “I… don’t like going there often, but I do still have a few family connections on Arkania. They have pretty epic hospitals… if less clear ethical review boards.”

As Jheva watches, the top of the shaft comes into view. It can be discerned by the faint outline of dark blue of the opening against the black of the shaft walls.

“….would chopping off the leg help?” Merrant asks.

“…we are not amputating your leg.”

“I’m not jumping at the prospect, Dass. Feels like a good question to ask, though.”

“I will be able to halt the sickness at its current stage, as I have been able to do for others. I can do this for at least a period of hours.”

Tela frowns.

“I didn’t get the briefing yet… What else does this disease do?”

“Lots of things. None of them pleasant,” Merrant replies. He speaks softly, calmly—a good deal more calmly than he actually feels.

The lift reaches the top of the shaft and comes to a stop with an un-greased squeal. Jheva steps forward and lifts a foot to shift down the release handle on the lift gate, then pushes the door itself open with the same foot. She shoulders her way out, not being particularly careful about whether or not the Duros woman’s body hits things, and gets out of the way so the others can step out as well.

“We will find a cure,” Dassalya says, helping Merrant to his feet. “If this illness has been manufactured, then I will find a way to un-manufacture it.”

“Yes,” Jheva says grimly. “It’s Sith. It’s made. Fix it. Or… kill who made it.”

Tela nods.

“Well, let me know if you think it’s worth calling in some help.”

“Thank you for the offer, Knight Sae’banni. I will keep it in consideration.”

Merrant starts to limp out of the cave, shaking his head slightly. “…feeling a bit feverish. Hot up here, more than I did before. And you didn’t answer my question, Dass.”

Dassalya moves to offer him assistance.

“And which question was that?”

“If amputating it would help.”

Her lips press together slightly in distaste. She doesn’t immediately respond.

“If you contracted it through a bite, as seems the case, then amputation before it can move to your other systems may prove useful in containing the infection, yes.”

“…….right. Good to know.”

“I will find a cure.”

“You said hours,” Jheva interjects. “We can go back. Before hours.”

“Yes. That is my intention.”

“More information is always good…” Merrant replies. “And I know you will, Dass.”

It does not take long to reach the sunlight beyond the mine entrance. Upon doing so, Dassalya instructs Merrant to take a seat and sets about treating him more fully. He offers her a wan smile.

Jheva steps away from the lift, to open ground, where she drops the creature’s head and then unslings the woman’s body from her shoulders with a grunt of effort.

Events and Occasions / Ossus: Legends Never Die (Part II)
« on: 02/12/19, 07:30:03 PM »
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.


  • Date: Saturday February 16, 2019
  • Time: 5:00PM P.S.T
  • In-Game Location: Ossus
  • Gamemaster: @Dassalya
  • co-Gamemaster: @recoveringgeek
  • Important: This Event takes place during the Jedi Under Siege storyline.
  • Faction: This is a Republic Faction-only Event.

Summary from Part I:
As Ossus fell under attack by Imperial forces, Jedi Master @Hawking Shatari and his allies, the Jedi Ediren Loreth ( @Joshmaul), Zhrreni ( @Niarra), Caben and Maerin Wysan, and Tela ( @SivWysan), along with the ex-Imperial Quarasha ( @Orell) and a friendly neutral by the name of Spirit ( @LVT), decided to assist Master Warn of the Jedi Colony in the evacuation of her people from the colony's farms. The group convinced a resistant and reluctant Nulaa Ulair to aid in the ferrying of what colonists were immediately available—with her extraction of a promise from them to inform her if they found a Kalikori refugee by the name of "Palakwi"—and departed in search of the largest group of unresponding colonists. After several fierce skirmishes with Imperial droids, the group found the colonists taking shelter from Imperial forces and strafing starfighter cannons in a nearby cave—and caring for an injured Augustus Jaade. Jaade informed the group of Dassalya and Anera's capture by Sith forces; the lightly armed and armoured colonists begged for help returning to the colony. Despite concerns by Jaade and Quarasha for Dassalya's wellbeing, it was ultimately decided that the group would help the colonists before going to her and Anera's aid.

Now it only remains to be seen if they can accomplish both goals before the Sith enact whatever fate they have in store for the captured pair...

There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force.

Recommended Music: Legends Never Die

Media Gallery / Dassalya's Thread of Artsy Things
« on: 03/10/18, 04:50:54 PM »
Hey, folks!

So, some of you may know I like to dabble around with art, and I've been told a few times now that I should put mine up for others to see. Therefore, I present to you Dassalya's Thread of Artsy Things! I'll mostly limit myself to SWTOR-related content. I hope you enjoy!

Events and Occasions / Shadow of Shadren: Imperial Diplomacy
« on: 10/22/17, 06:38:53 PM »
On Iridonia, a king dreams of darkness...
On Shadren, a people search for their queen...
Two planets - two factions - rest poised at the edge of conflict.

Can you avert it? Would you begin it? Will you join it?

Queen Vedriat Azeara has been working diligently to restore the tarnished reputation of her people. Since her ascension as the sole ruler of the Shadren Hegemony, Vedriat has sent ships to serve in the engagement on Iokath, denounced the traitorous "Darth" Taelios and raided his megafactory on Shadren IV, provided the documentation of the Valefor's legal secession of the Sith Empire, and called forward her allies within the Sith to speak on her behalf.

Now, however, trouble sparks from the already inflamatory existence that is the Hegemony. A pulled, Iridonian news broadcast suggests the capture of an unknown Sith, and queries and statements from the recently vocal Shadren fall suddenly silent but for the unexpected announcement of King Dorian's return to politics. There are rumours that Lady Tymeis, Vedriat's most trusted servant, reaches out surreptitiously to her believed allies, for the Queen may be in danger...

You are one of those allies. Or perhaps you have been invited by one such person. Or, perhaps, your own sources have alerted you to this meeting, and you have decided it is best to make your own desires understood...

The OOC Bits!

Where: An Imperial estate not far outside Dromund Kaas' capital. [OOC Sivala's Lair of Shadows SH]
When:  Wednesday, October 25th, 7:00PM PST

This event will be centred around discussing the Imperial response to Shadren's current situation. Any applicable character is welcome, although if you intend to attend on a Republic-side character, please let me know so I may arrange an invite for you! Additionally, if you plan on being a party crasher, send me a heads up in a PM so I might account for that, too. I'm so excited by the interest that has been generated so far. I look forward to seeing you there!

Cantina / The Absent Thread
« on: 09/28/17, 02:50:18 PM »
Hello, folks!

I may be wrong, but I don't think we have an encompassing thread dedicated to people's short term absences. So! Consider this one an option if you need to leave a little blurb. :)

As for my own little blurb, I must inform you all that I will not be attending or hosting any Jedi Nights until December. I've been cast in a play and, unfortunately, I'm the only one of the cast who has a problem with Thursday evening rehearsals. Alas, poor Jedi Night, I knew thee well. I would still like to make myself available for Jedi themed RP (or in the case that a Jedi Custodum officer is needed), however, so please feel free to send me a PM if you'd like to get in touch! Otherwise, may the Force be with you all.

Peace out!

Holocrons and Info Nodes / The Zinnisaadi Memoirs
« on: 10/11/16, 08:07:22 PM »
Hello, folks! After years of humming and hawing, I decided it was time to start up my own legacy thread. I once had one running on the first guild site I frequented after joining the Begeren Colony server, but, due to the events in it being somewhat antiquated and with characters less present in this community, I've decided against transposing those posts over here. So! Jumping straight into the action at the current post-skip time frame.

Tamminick Nasadee lay on the medical bed aboard the Custodian’s Watch. He’d been here before—in this particular bed in this particular medbay, on others like it across various worlds, on cots and bedrolls and twice before the very dirt of the ground. The one difference, he reflected, was that he’d never had his sister as his physician before.

Dassalya stood at the foot of the bed, fiddling with the furniture’s built-in scanner. He tried not to watch her. It was better to focus on his breathing than to allow himself to study her face—so much richer with the markings of accomplishment than his own—or to ruminate on the anger that still eddied around his heart. Try to be nice to her. Alright Kyri, he thought. I’m trying. From the foot of the bed, Dassalya nodded with approval.

“Your healing is coming along,” she said, glancing up from her readings. “The scarring is minimizing. Brain activity appears to be flowing among its more natural paths. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Tamminick replied. He rolled his gaze up to the ceiling and fixed it there, biting back a sigh. “Aside from losing my mind the other day, I feel great.”


He lost the battle. The sigh escaped him. “Sorry, Dass. I just… I’m sorry.”

“I understand this is difficult.” Her voice was soft, sympathetic. It mirrored the concerned line between her eyebrows. “I do not hold it against you that you are angry with me and angry with this situation.” She hesitated. “...may I?”

Tamminick flicked his gaze down. She stood, hand outstretched, gesturing at the medical bed. He resumed his analysis of the ceiling.

“...yeah.” he said. “...go ahead.” He didn’t watch her as she took her seat, but he saw her movement in his peripheral and felt the sag of the bed beneath her.

“Would you like me to find someone to whom you may speak?” she asked softly.

Tamminick swallowed. “Another Jedi?”

“There… is a surplus of Jedi aboard the Jedi ship, yes.”

“It’s cruel to joke at the sick guy.”

“Even if the ‘sick guy’ enjoys jokes?”

“Your jokes are worse than Mom’s.”

A breathy, muted laugh. Another moment of hesitation. “...may I?” she asked again.

Tamminick shrugged. “Sure.”
There was the quiet rustle of her robes and a shift in the bed as she leaned towards him. Then, tentatively, a touch against his palm. Tamminick’s eyebrows rose. He looked down as Dassalya took his hand.
“I… want you to know,” she said, her gaze also on their hands, “that I am still your sister, even if I am a Jedi. I understand that it is not what it was—” Her eyes closed. “—but I hope you hear me.”
His throat tightened. She’s asking for your forgiveness, a voice in the back of his bruised brain told him. Forgive her now, or hold onto it forever. He swallowed.
“...I miss you,” he said in a small voice. “We all do.”
Her fingers tightened on his; a tiny, caught noise issued from the back of her closed throat.

“...I miss you, too.”
The anger in his heart ebbed, then grew. He looked into her face. “Do you know what it was like, thinking you were dead? Dad used to call me. While I was working. He cried so much over you I had to get a new frequency just so I could…” His lips pressed together and he gave a curt shake of his head. “...go ten meters without it sounding off.”
His sister wilted. Guilt washed through her expression. “I am sorry…”
“And Jarulee? And Haran? They talk about you to their kids in the past tense. ‘Your aunt was a brave Jedi.’ ‘She died trying to protect us.’ ‘She used to love honey sweets and terrible jokes.’”
“I am… sorry.”
“All the sorrys in the world don’t make up for what happened.” Tamminick watched her, miserable and shoulders hunched, unwilling—or unable—to fight back or defend herself. A thread of pity wound its way inside his chest. Guilt. “Just…” He sighed. “...tell me that it hurt?”
She turned to him with wide, shocked eyes. “Of course,” she said, the words heartfelt and impulsive. Then she found herself, and a veneer of control laced itself across her posture. “Tamminick… I may be a Jedi, but that does not make me an unfeeling creature.”
He looked away. “I meant what I said.” The words were subdued. He couldn’t bring anything more to them. The ache in his chest was too great to give that much voice. “I did miss you.”
“I know.” She placed her free hand over his and gave a squeeze. Then, with a gentle pat, she released his hand and attempted to withdraw hers. Tamminick didn’t let go. She stopped. He felt her eyes on him. He didn’t meet them.
The tension in her hand relaxed. She returned her free hand over top. “Do you want to tell me how you are truly feeling?” she asked, voice soft.
Tamminick didn’t. He didn’t want to think about everything he was feeling—physically or otherwise. But… he’d promised Kyri…
“I am feeling better,” he admitted. “Aside from that episode, I can… remember things better. Keep it sorted. Even the old memories sometimes.”
“That is good,” she said. She squeezed his hand. “That is progress.”
“Except for when I go crazy,” he added.
“You are not crazy. You have suffered an injury, and you have suffered trauma and difficult experience.”
“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Tamminick replied, his words dry. “‘Difficult  experience’?”
“Is there another way in which you would like me to describe it?”
He let his head fall back on the pillow. “”
A moment of silence descended. Dassalya shifted her weight on the bed to be more comfortable.
“When I…” He lifted his free hand to touch his cheek. It had been some time since he’d earned the burn scars there, but sometimes they still itched.” “ this. I was angry. It hurt. It felt like everything I was inside was starting to show.”
“And… what was everything inside?” She had a gentle voice, his sister. She could fill it with concern and compassion in a way that no one else he knew could. A bitter part of him wondered if it was merely a tool for her Jedi half, but the rest of him remembered this was how she had always been. Kind.
Tamminick pressed his lips together. He didn’t reply.
“It is alright,” Dassalya said, patting his hand twice. “You do not need to share if you do not wish to.”
“I’m… broken inside,” he said, retreating to the language of their people. He could pretend, somehow, that no one else could hear them. “It’s hard to… talk.”
“I am here.” Her hand tightened on his. “Whenever you wish to, whenever you can, I am here.”
“I’m not… what I should have been. I let myself get so kriffed up…”
“That is what happens with trauma,” she said, earnest and gentle. “It hurts us. They help us survive, but scars are still scars.”
“I tried to… be a good person. I think I lost my way.”

She held his hand tight. “I will help you find the path.”

Another moment of silence. Tamminick counted the lines on the ceiling and tried to force down the feelings that had sprung out of the tight, black box in his stomach.

“Do you…” She’s coming. She’s coming for you. Watch for her. He closed his eyes and pushed the thoughts away. “...want to hear a story?”
“Yes,” Dassalya said, unaware of the whispers racing around his head. He opened his eyes and turned his gaze to her.
Breathe, he thought. It’s just your head. She’s not coming. It’s… not… It’s not your fault.
“It started on Nar Shaddaa almost six years ago…”

Outside Realm / AFK!
« on: 08/25/16, 11:37:02 AM »
Hello, folks!

I just wanted to let everyone know that I'll be travelling and away from home for a month starting on the 27th. I'll have internet access, but I'm not sure how much time I'll have to be online (could be lots, could be very little). I'll try to keep an eye on my PM box in the event that anyone needs me (especially for officer duties!), and I expect that I'd be able to pop on for an invite, etc. if needed. I'm also open to running private or public play-by-posts for those interested (but, again, not sure how quickly or slowly I'll be able to progress them). Either way! You now have all been warned up my upcoming, extended AFK. Be well, peeps!

Holocrons and Info Nodes / Revanche
« on: 05/12/15, 12:54:48 PM »
It was a typical colony.

Prefab cottages and quick fix buildings sprawled in a near perfect grid, turned away from their planned path only by the degraded concern of the inhabitants and their legislators. The colony had been backed by money once, that much was clear, but it was also just as clear that money had long since abandoned it. Perhaps the profits from the mines the colony had been built to service no longer produced the required figures, or perhaps the war or some other calamity had stinted interest or ability. Regardless, the result was the same: miners, and their peripheries, trolled the streets or sat in dingy cantinas, attempting to find some way to waste their off hours and credits in the entertainment-starved settlement.

Nulaa knew these kinds of colonies well. In her younger days, when she had been nothing more than a up and coming smuggler, running spice and other narcotics to places such as this had been a regular source of income. Mining was dangerous enough work, and the relatively high pay used to compensate for it—coupled with the lack of anything satisfactory on which to spend those earned credits—meant perception-altering pastimes were commonplace. Junkies needed their fix, and Nulaa had been happy to provide.

Now, however, she had a different task.

Her coral-coloured skin stood out in stark contrast against the dirty whites and dull browns of the settlement. Eyes followed her from doorways and dust-stained corners, but the seedy, soiled atmosphere did little to deter the confident swagger in her step. If she noticed those eyes peering at her—red rimmed, distrustful, envious—then a subtle touch of a hand to her blaster grip was all she did to turn them away. It was enough.

She made her way through the settlement, moving with the easy stride of one who knows exactly where one is going. Turning down a side street, she approached a grimy dinner with a faded neon sign reading “Togo’s” above it, and let herself in.

It didn’t look much different on the inside. Dusty, dirty, grimy, although with the faint scuff marks in the all-covering film on the tables and chairs that suggested at least someone had a modicum of care for the place. A row of booths ran along the outer wall to Nulaa’s right, with a bar counter and stools in front of her, and a small, dingy hallway with plasteel saloon doors just to the left of it. Beyond the counter, a window with order chits opened a tiny view into the kitchen, where an overweight, lumbering human presumably worked over a grill. A handful of bleary-eyed patrons sat scattered about the diner. One or two looked up with varying levels of weariness and disinterest before returning to their meals and stimcaf. Nulaa took only a moment to assess those occupants and the diner’s layout before stepping easily towards the hallway and moving through the swinging doors. The human’s head jerked up as she passed the open doorway to the kitchen where he worked.

“Hey!” he said. “This is for staff only!”

She didn’t pause in her step. “I’m looking for Quenla. Don’t worry about it.”


She continued to ignore the human as she stepped towards the end of the hall, where a worn, scuffed door lead out into the settlement. Pushing through, she came back out into the sunlight at the top of a pair of chipped stresscrete stairs, and surveyed the area before her.

It was just as bland and unexciting here as the rest of the settlement buildings before it. A small, dented, table of some unnotable grey metal sat in a small courtyard of refuse bins and abandoned junk. On it perched a human woman, so small she could have been mistaken for a child just about to reach her adolescent years. She sucked on a stimstick, its wreath of smoke creating an opalescent halo around her dark, chin-length locks. She didn’t look back as Nulaa entered the area.

“I thought I saw your ship coming in.”

“Spaceport’s over a click away,” Nulaa said, stepping down the stairs. “Good to know you’re still up to your old tricks.”

The door banged open behind Nulaa, cutting off whatever reply Quenla might have given.

Hey,” the human said, looking rather annoyed. “You’re not allowed back here. Get beat.”

Nulaa smirked. Quenla still didn’t look back. “Go back to your grill, Togo,” she said. She paused a moment to take another drag of her stimstick. “I’ve got six more minutes on my break and I’ll talk to whoever I like.”

The man blustered, his face going red. He looked from Nulaa, who faced him, smirking, and then to Quenla, who still hadn’t turned around to him. He opened his mouth to speak. Quenla cut him off.

“I think I can smell the patties burning from here, Togo. Lorin’s not gonna pay you again if you burn his order one more time.”

Togo wiped his sweaty, grease-stained palms on his apron, mouth still hanging open, before clipping it shut with a scowl and moving off. The door slammed shut behind him. Quenla blew out the final draw of her stimtick and squished the stub into the table beside her, putting it out. She flicked the stub away then rose from her perch on the table, stepping down to the ground. Slowly, almost with annoyance, she moved to the edge of the table and faced Nulaa.

“What do you want?”

Nulaa continued to smirk. “Is that the way to greet an old friend?”

“You’re not my friend. You’re my ex-employer. And you owe me enough that I’ll greet you how I like.”

Nulaa chuckled. “I missed you.”

“I’m not playing, Captain. What do you want?”

The Twi’lek shrugged, then moved to inspect one of the junk piles, feigning interest. “Got a nice job here. Interesting. Challenging.” She wrinkled her nose playfully as she picked up a piece of broken metal. “Must be fulfilling.”

“Things got hot and you ran off to who knows where. I’m with my family now, so yeah. It is interesting.”

Nulaa chuckled again, noting the defensive edge to the other woman’s voice. She set the metal back where she found it. “Interesting enough that you’re watching the scanners while you, what, run food in a dead-end diner? I bet you still have it all networked up to that fancy implant of yours so you can listen while people treat you like a droid.”

Quenla reached up to touch a dark implant in her right ear, but caught herself halfway and lowered her hand. “It’s none of your business.”

Nulaa turned to face her, eyes narrowed in calculation. “I think you’re bored.”

“Of course I’m bored. But it’s where I am now.”

“And what if I made you an offer that you wouldn’t be bored anymore?”

“No deal. I know what you count as ‘not boring’ and I’m not in.”

“I’ve got a ship. I’ve got muscle, and I’ve got contacts.”

“You’ve always had a ship.”

“I’m looking to expand.” Nulaa stepped closer, her movements like a snake, coiled, smooth, waiting. “What I need is a slicer. Someone I can trust. Someone who’s good.”

Quenla didn’t say anything, but she scowled. It wasn’t enough, however, to hide the intrigue in her eyes.

“We’re taking on everybody,” Nulaa continued. “The Hutts, the Empire, even the Republic if it gets in our way. Tell me that doesn’t interest you.”

The Human looked away. “I’ve got a family to take care of.”

“And you’ll be making enough credits to hire them a nanny if you want to.”

That caught the woman’s interest. She looked back, narrow-eyed, at Nulaa, as if assessing her. “What’s changed, Ulair?”

Nulaa met her gaze, all traces of smile now gone from her face. Her voice, when she spoke, was dark, angry. “I don’t play nice with beings who kill people I care about. And I don’t particularly like being hunted like an animal. You hurt me, I hurt you. And it’s about time people started remembering that.” She raised her chin. “Some of them already have.”

Quenla studied Nulaa for a long, silent moment. “You’re serious about it.”

“Like I said. I don’t play nice.”

The Human woman lowered her gaze. She ran a tongue over her teeth, considering.

“I’m not an employee. I’m a partner,” she said, looking up.

“Partnership isn’t on the table, Queenie.”

“It is or I walk.” Quenla set her jaw, chin lifted as she stared at the Twi’lek. “I want thirty percent of the whole cut, and I want to know our targets before we hit them. I’m not playing in the dark so you can drop me again like last time.”

“I didn’t drop you. You ran back to your family and you never called for pickup. Don’t blame this on me.”

“Do you really want to argue with me on this? How many other slicers you know as good as me won’t go digging into your secrets or cashing in on that bounty you have on your head? Yes, I know about it. I’m not stupid. You need me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Nulaa stared at her a moment, eyes narrowed, and then a slow smile touched her lips. “Alright… partner. It’s a deal. I forgot how much I missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get soft on me.”

Nulaa smirked. “Come on,” she said, nodding her head at the door. “Let me reintroduce you to the ship.”

She turned to make her way back through the diner. Quenla stood in the middle of the courtyard a moment longer, her dark eyes taking in the surroundings as if memorizing them—or perhaps saying goodbye. Then she picked up the pack of stimsticks she’d left on the table, placed them in her pocket, and followed Nulaa out.

Holocrons and Info Nodes / Yarwin's Memorial
« on: 11/06/14, 02:13:57 PM »
((Thank you to everyone who attended this event. It was a pleasure to participate in it with you. Here is the transcription  (slightly modified for ease of reading) of Yarwin's service. Thanks to Audaine for helping write it all down!))

Outside the Jedi temple on Tython...

Iaera:      Thank you all for being here on Tython today. We are here to pay tribute to Master Dai Yarwin, who has moved on through the Force. If you will all please follow me.

Iaera beckons everyone, and they follow her to the river. Iaera indicates the nearby stream with a sweep of her arm.

Ran-del hooks his thumbs in his belt and watches the stream pass by.

Iaera:       Master Yarwin often came to this river. “Does the river try?” he would ask. “No, it flows”. The Force was always strong with him, a strength he imparted on those whom he spoke to. When I met him, several years ago, I could immediately sense his wisdom, his many years of communing with the Force. He spoke with firm, confident sagacity, and a deep apprecaition for the deepers wonders of the Force. His strength, his wisdom, have flowed on now. Like the river, his ultimate destiny was always to empty into the sea, that which made him up becoming one with the greater waters of the Force.

Etirza glances at the stream, the flowing waters glistening past.

Iaera:      He joined the Force as any Jedi would: sacrificing himself for the good of not only his fellow Jedi, but for the people of an entire moon. He fought against the Dark Side of the Force at is most elemental, and although some say he died… I say there is no death, there is the Force.

Several Jedi bow their heads at Iaera’s words.

Eidan bows his head; off to the side, his first mate just looks around. Being around so many Jedi makes her nervous, but she’s here at her Captain’s behest.

Nieran keeps his head tilted forward. Quiet consideration as exudes the very aura he hopes all Jedi feel. His pheromones breached the sensations of Calm and Hope.

Adamantine is lost in thought, watching the water flow by, babbling as it goes.

Iaera:      I knew Dai Yarwin for some time. I always appreciated his insight and his wisdom on many matters of the spirit and the Force. He always possessed much greater connection to that side of the Force than I could ever hope to.

Maerin nods solemnly, smiling at another memory of water.

Iaera smiles at everyone.

Iaera:      I invite all those who knew him, to take my place here and share their thoughts and memories of the Jedi master, and how his words and actions shaped theirs.”

Iaera shuffled back into the crowd.

Shaantil steps forward.

Shaantil:   …I did not know Master Yarwin as much as I wish I had, to be honest… And many here would not be surprised to know that I had my… Disagreements with him… But I will always hold a great respect for him. Many here no doubt heard rumours, stories about his strictness. True to a point, but never without compassion and understanding either. The time that comes to me is shortly after my own Master had sacrificed herself. It had been several years since I had been her Padawan learner, and yet the loss still cut deep in me. Some would have tried to comfort me, reassure me of the bravery of her actions, that she would be remembered… What he chose to do was different. He no doubt sensed that I doubted myself at that point, that I did not feel confident in myself… And so he asked that I undertake a dangerous mission with him. He did not treat me like a bereaved child, he challenged me to be what I was, a Jedi… …Showing that even if I did not have confidence in myself, he still had enough confidence in me that he would place his life in my hands… Without question, it was a great honour to assist Master Yarwin… And a great privilege to have learned from him as well.

Shaantil bows, finishing her speech and stepping back into the crowd, doing her best to remain centred, for his sake if not her own.

Iroquois removes his hood for the moment; those from the Nexus incident may recognize him as almost identical to the single Sith who joined the team at Master Yarwin’s side. Hair and eyes hold different colours; the rest seems the same.

Ran-del stepped forward, growing almost restless. He leaned against the nearby rock and crossed his arms.

Ran-del:   I don’t know Master Yarwin very well. My time as a Padawan was out there, and I didn’t spend much time on Tython ‘til after Master Soldin died. I never met this wise man. In fact, the first time I met him, I thought he was a complete laserbrain. He tried to attack a Sith Lord on a neutral barge, and then fought him surrounded by Sith Lords. That was the first time I saw him die. I never knew why everyone thought he was so great. I still didn’t after we rescued him from the Bloasus’ prison, and he went hard-crazy and started trying to march us all to war against the Dark Side. We chased him to Taris, where he was trying to start a splinter group of Padawans to enact his crusade against the Dark Side. He’d turned a rakghoul infested ruin into a training area… A gauntlet, designed to turn Jedi into warriors. He usked us all, there, to cast aside our old Code and do REAL good, bring peace to the galaxy at swordpoint. And… It was tempting, especially after touching the darkness on Nar Shaddaa. But, in the end, rather than fight us, rather than try to temper us with violence… He faced his inner turmoil and accepted it. He remembered what it was to be a Jedi… To walk with the Force. On Nar Shaddaa, all of us faced that… hole, that weal in the skin of the Galaxy. But he didn’t just face it… he conquered it. He took it by the scruff of the neck and he made it calm, gave us time to heal it. He was never stopped by doubt and fear… ...even to the end. If that’s who everyone was talking about… then I’m glad to have known him. And I know, somewhere, he’s out there still.

Xagert clasps his hands behind his back.

Eszrah reaches forward to softly clap Ran-del’s shoulder. Ran-del smiles at Eszrah.

Maerin seems especially moved at the ending of Ran-del’s speech, remembering those final moments.

Eidan steps forward, his coat swishing slightly along the riverbank.

Eidan:       Not to sound like a broken holo-record here, but I, too, wish I had known him better than I had. I had heard of him as being a rather dour fellow. My friend, Saxtus Fayhan, however, had nothing but praise for him, believing him to be a trusted colleague, and indeal defender of our Republic.

Eidan nods over at Ran-del.

Eidan:      I was peripherally involved in that trip to Taris that Knight Quardaak mentioned. I was playing command-and-control back to Olaris. Master Netalis had gone ahead with Knight Qardaak and the Padawans. Master Netalis, at the time, was hell-bent on having Master Yarwin drummed out of the Order. But the others… they saw what Saxtus had seen in him. And hearing them say so, I did, too. As a patriot of the Republic, I say that if there is an example to be upheld of integrity and willingness to stand against the evil that rises from the dark places, let it be Dai Yarwin. In my view, there can be no more fitting tribute than that. Thank you.

Sotar smiles at Eidan.

Etirza looks at the crowd. She swallows. Iaera smiles at her. Etirza meets her gaze, then steps forward.

Etirza:      Master Yarwin did not try. He allowed the Force to flow through him, and it guided his actions. I…

Maerin gives Etirza a gentle, caring smile.

Etirza:      I’ve known him all my life. Seen from afar, mostly. But what I know of him is this: He had great insight into each Jedi… Into Padawans, even, like myself. He allowed us to walk with the flow of the Force.

Eszrah nods, then looks at the ground.

Etirza:      He gave us the opportunity to grow in the Force. Before his first disappearance… and after. I was one of those Padawans on Taris.

Etirza looks around.

Etirza:      I think he was himself even in the midst of darkness. And it is because of him that I am a better Jedi.

Etirza rushes to rejoin the crowd.

Several Jedi offer Etirza looks of thanks and encouragement.

Adamantine very carefully doesn’t look at Etirza.

Maerin nods solemnly before stepping forward. She kneels briefly, touching it to her lips, before moving to speak.

Iroquois turns his attention to Maerin, giving a blank stare.

Maerin:   Jedi, Masters, friends. I am honoured to be among you. A great poet once said that in every Sentient, there are multitudes. This is perhaps no more true than in Master Yarwin. I also did not know him as well as I liked. Was, perhaps fearful in my early years in the Order of elements of zealotry others have noted. In my final moments of knowing him… however…

Maerin pauses briefly, emotional.

Maerin:   He perhaps became my greatest teacher.

Sotar smiles at Maerin.

Dassalya’s brow furrows in sympathy as she watches Maerin.

Maerin:   As a shipbuilder’s daughter, I learned early that the fires of a forge can destroy… or create a masterwork. Many of us faced the horrors of the Nexus.” She meets various companion’s gazes briefly. “Our own demons and weaknesses. Most of us overcame them, thank the Force, to a degree. But Master Yarwin chose to give of himself utterly. He showed his heart to be, in the end, a witness to the Force’s compassion, giving of himself to save millions--even the very Sith who helped seal his fate.

Iroquois remains quiet at the mention of the Sith, looking down for a moment.

Maerin:   I struggled for years to be a Jedi--but I can say from my heart that he showed me the best a Jedi can be.

Maerin glances to a pouch, which she removes.

Maerin:    As many of you know, I have remained on Nar Shaddaa to serve for a time--as the Council allows. I visited the place where Dai Yarwin fell. I would like all of you to know that, in that place, I found this.

Maerin lifts some vivid, glistening stones.

Maerin:   In sealing that place, these gems of beauty were created. I will be carrying one in my new lightsaber--and would like any of his former students--or any who would like to honour his memory to take one.

Maerin places them in the stream.

Etirza gazes at the water flowing over the glistening stones.

Maerin:    There is also… impossibly a spring there, in the light of the distant sky. I am hoping to plant somewhere there, in his memory. I would welcome any of you to visit it, and help me when you feel ready.

Maerin bows deeply, and retreats. She gives Etirza’s shoulder a brief, gentle touch as she passes. Iroquois, following the Jedi as she stepped back to her place, felt a wave of guilt clench at his heart and started to move away from the group.

Aredanus steps forward.

Aredanus:    I am not a man of long, heartfelt speeches. So I will keep this as brief as I can. Many of you know I am new to the Order. I came under the tutelage of Master Xagert, who braves me, and the forces we face together, with equal courage. I, unfortunately, only met Master Yarwin once. During the briefing of the mission that would seal his fate. Yet, in this one meeting, I learned much from this powerful man. He was not one to show much openly, but he cared for anyone who would accept it from him. A gentle giant, if you will. Even I could see that. He was a balanced man, who demanded respect from all who met him, and received an ample supply of it. I may not have known him, but I would have followed him to the depths of the Nexus without question. He was a one-of-a-kind man, and I fear it will be many lifetimes before we see a man of equal character as Master Dai Yarwin. Thank you.

Maerin nods, still a bit distracted in her emotion.

Xagert steps forward, walking calmly.

Xagert:      I cannot speak as if I knew Dai Yarwin as well as many of you. I saw him scarcely, but the few times my path crossed him, I always saw a man dedicated to the Order and to his principles. Principles that many of you know and carry.

Nieran steps towards the river, listening to the others who still talk. He produces a cup from his robes and pours its contents into the river. A symbolic act, more than anything. But he watches it none the less, as the slight discolouration of the tea, like the river, flows.

Maerin smiles, pleased to see Nieran up and about.

Dassalya watches Nieran. She slowly and sombrely returns her gaze to Xagert. Maerin also catches Dassalya’s eye with a brief smile when she looks in her direction.

Xagert:    As a teacher, there is no greater legacy than to see students, whether official or not, remember the lesson imparted. Dai Yarwin was a teacher to many of you. And though he might not be here physically to teach you new lessons, find the courage that is now you who can continue his legacy by passing what you have all learned from him to the next generation. His courage, his compassion, his dedication, all that made this man a great Jedi, a great teacher, and a great friend. Thank you, and may the Force be with us all.

Aredanus leans in towards Xagert.

Iaera looks around.

Iaera:      Do any other wish to speak?

Eszrah raises a hand.

Iaera beckons to Eszrah.

Eszrah weaves his way through the crowd and approaches the front. Under a woven shawl covering his left shoulder and arm, a metallic glint is seen. He begins to shrug off one of his boots and finally puts his bare foot in the stream. The water rushes around it, burying it in silt. He closes his eyes.

Eszrah:    Yarwin, ov Tyth. His Wordle. Jedi, he. Yn O’va gane, heyth. Daeda he, allsed, andso byforrthe hissen kyn. Daeda he, andso yiit meanye goode rest wehreall… Yarwin was a Jedi. This is all that he would have cared to hear, for even now, he listens. This is certain.

Etirza bows her head.

Ran-del meditates.

Maerin also bows her head in a silent prayer.

Eszrah nods, having said his piece. He pulls his foot free of the river and walks back towards the end of the group, shed boot in hand.

Nieran leans forward, taking a cup--now full of the stream’s water--as he moves towards where speakers stand and places it on the rock before rejoining the others.

Iaera smiles.

Iroquois places a hand on the rock beside him and leans onto it, carefully overlooking the group and listening faintly.

Iaera:      Thank you, everyone. All that can be said has been said. The Force is with Dai Yarwin. And so may it be with us.

Iaera bows her head.

Nieran:      Force be with you.

Nieran speaks, expecting a chorus behind him. The others repeat the words, some quietly to themselves, some in ways that those around may hear.

Ran-del:   For Yarwin! For the Jedi!

Miller smiles faintly at Ran-del. “Cheers to that.”

Ran-del holds his saber aloft in remembrance.

Abethul draws her training saber, holding it to the sky.

Maerin murmurs a prayer in Old Corellian. She draws her partially completed new lightsaber, touching it briefly to the water.

Eszrah brandishes his spear and holds it straight as an arrow.

The gathered Jedi ignite their sabers and hold them high in silent memory and tribute.

Ran-del joins the Jedi in holding their blades aloft, then sheaths his and bows once more. The other Jedi slowly follow suit.

With that, the service ends.

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